Turning From True Beauty
by mymagic
Summary: Six years into her marriage with Raoul, the happiness and freedom Christine sought has not been attained and the emotions she once carried for the phantom, now dead, still remain. How does Christine resolve this internal turbulence? Oneshot fic please R


"Turning From True Beauty"

Hello to all! I hope you are enjoying the last moments that summer has to offer. I, as you can see, have decided to write a one-shot fic under the category of Le Phantom de L'Opera. I LOVE the movie, music, everything (I can't say the broadway show, because I haven't seen it, but I'm sure it's amazing) and am completely obsessed.

So, one night, inspiration showered me with her magic and I wrote the story. Thankfully, my muse is now working full time and not part time. Before you begin reading, I would like to point out two things. Firstly, there are several phrases in French throughout the story- but- there will be translations accompanying them in parentheses. Secondly- this story is based on information given in both the movie and the book (i.e. the name 'Erik' is mentioned in the book and not the movie). Anyway- I hope you enjoy this story, and (this goes without saying, but I have to remind everyone…) review. _Lecture heureuse_! Happy reading!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux's great work; neither do I own the music that the ingenious Andrew Loyd Webber composed… sheds a tear

"It's over now, the music of the night! Erik is dead… Erik is dead!"

Christine sat bolt right up in her bed; one hand was placed on her chest, and she could feel her heart beating rapidly as if she had just ran a great distance. She inhaled with some difficulty.

Feeling excessively warm, she pressed a hand to her forehead- only to immediately remove it; for she had felt drops of moisture. Christine was only beginning to register her surroundings. Lying next to her was a tranquil Raoul, lost in Slumber's caresses. Across the room, the _fenêtre _(window) was closed, covered by rich gold and off-white curtains.

Noticing one of her dresses lying on the floor (as well as Raoul's suit thrown haphazardly upon his dresser), Christine was slowly able to recall the events of that night…

She and Raoul had attended a ball- a grand party given once a year and whose guests received exclusive invitations.

The Changy's, being one of the few families that dominated society's upper class, were one of the first to be invited to attend. Raoul's sister, Maryse, insisted upon getting new dresses made for the pair of them in honor of the occasion.

Christine's dress was splendid, or so it seemed according to everyone's reaction. It was a pink dress that accented the glow to Christine's skin. Her shoulders were exposed, and the sleeves traveled all the way down her arms, finally taking the shape of bells at her wrists. It also contained a low neckline; on the whole, a truly flattering dress.

Raoul previously presented her with both a diamond necklace and earrings in honor of the occasion. "You look like a queen, Christine," he said when he fastened the necklace for her.

At the ball, Christine was the main topic of conversation among the ladies. Christine glanced at the crowd and sighed. She did not wish to be there. She wanted to flee all these people- whose sole matter of existence revolved around money, gossip, and the aesthetic.

The only comfort she could find was in the thought of a certain masked someone. Christine was suddenly gripped by intense emotion and fled the room. She sought refuge in the immense garden outside. Darkness flooded her senses and Christine relaxed.

After a while, Christine saw Raoul come outside in search of her.

"I'm over here, Raoul," Christine called out.

Raoul came to her. Upon finding her face slightly blanched, he inquired as to the cause. Christine assured him of her good health and followed Raoul back to the ballroom, where she shared dances with several people, including her husband.

Arriving at their home brought Christine the promise of physical rest, and, she internally hoped, mental repose.

However, even after undressing and stepping into her nightgown, slumber refused to take hold of her.

Raoul joined her shortly. Holding Christine close and kissing her gently, Raoul wished her a good night's sleep.

Within a few minutes, she heard Raoul's rhythmic breathing, indicating his state of consciousness.

Christine, however, suffered from several hours' insomnia.

Her eyes gradually grew tired and she fell asleep- only to wake up frightened and nervous a little while later. Christine now lay on her back wide awake. The bed was quite big and comfortable but Christine could not rest a moment longer.

She rose, walking to a nearby _chaise_ (chair), where she had left her _peignoir _(wrapper/shrug). She lifted the soft, delicate, silky raiment and guided her arms into the sleeves one by one. She walked towards the bedroom door and opened it.

The soft, glowing, dim light escaped the corridor and glided into their room-slightly penetrating the darkness that engulfed her not long ago. Before leaving, she permitted herself a moment's glance at the room she shared with her husband. Just looking at the furniture and materials reminded her of Raoul's generosity, love, and kindness.

He insisted that Christine choose the finest, richest, most exquisite wood, silk, velvet- the most expensive materials.

He wished her to be happy- and was she happy? That was the question that Raoul first asked Christine when they were preparing for their wedding. That question continued to haunt her six years into her marriage.

Closing the door to her bedroom, she nimbly walked to her children's room. Opening the door, Christine walked in, exerting as much effort as she can to prevent any disturbances that would interfere with her sons' sleep.

She first went to Phillipe, the oldest at age 6. Bending down, Christine pushed back several of her straying, curly brown hair and observed her eldest son. His face was almost entirely Raoul's, but he possessed some of Christine's features which softened his face. Christine gently pushed back some of his chestnut brown hair and kissed his forehead.

Turning to Joseph, the youngest son, she smiled.

He had inherited an equal share of features from both his parents.

_Il a trois ans et est un garçon très intelligent!_ (He is three years old and is a very intelligent boy!) she thought to herself with pride. As she bent down to kiss him, she heard him mutter in sleep:

"_Mais maman, je veux beaucoup de gâteau aussi!_" ("But mom, I want a lot of cake too!)

Smiling, she kissed her Joseph on the cheek.

Leaving her sons' room, she once again left the darkness and entered the light. She couldn't help but shudder. She now understood what Erik meant when he sang: "The cold, unfeeling night…". Although the light beckons to a person, inviting one to bask in the illusion of warmth- the person is deceived. He/she walks into the light only to find their souls exposed- themselves cold and naked. But the darkness, Christine learned, covers all of that….

Christine felt at peace with that thought. During the first few years of her marriage to Raoul, and thought of Erik was suppressed- thrown into the darkest corner of her mind and tried to be prevented from ever being recalled again. It was betrayal- adultery of the mind- and Christine refused to be a part of it. How cold she, when Raoul provided for her every need and showered her with his love and care?

Christine arrived at the door to her room. Upon opening it, her eyes sought Raoul, who, she had discovered, shifted his position in slumber. Envious of the ease with which he enters the realm of sleep, she walked over to where he slept.

Gazing into his face, Christine relished his handsome features. She again thought of his benevolence, love, and care. Her eyes traveled down his muscled chest and well framed shoulders arms. Blushing slightly, she acknowledged the fact that she derives much pleasure by lying in his arms, holding her securely, lovingly…. Christine didn't dare deny that she carried intense feelings of love for Raoul as well.

However, she felt she had unfinished business to attend to. Astonished and slightly mystified at this sudden internal urge and motivation, she left Raoul and headed to her closet. There she found an endless selection of the gowns that Raoul presented her with. Christine couldn't help but think that Raoul had devoted himself to her heart, body, and soul. Financially, he provided for her every need and desire- and what has she given him in return? In the darkest crevices of her mind, a voice said: "Not the essential".

Trying to ignore this thought, Christine shoes a simple dress- one usually worn during wintertime.

As for jewelry- she wore none, except for one item. Christine looked fondly at her wedding band and then swiftly removed it.

Adjusting her hair for the final time (after washing her hands and face), Christine glided down the stairs to the first floor; careful not to wake the servants. She found her traveling cloak and secured it tightly. She quietly opened the door and stepped outside. Glancing back at the magnificent mansion- the home belonging to the Countess and Vicomte de Changy, Christine sighed and left.

The December wind blew fiercely past her, leaving her teeth chattering and causing her to rub her hands together for warmth.

Christine headed for the stables, keeping in mind that she had a moderate amount of ground to cover before she reached her destination. Still determined, Christine found her horse, Reine, and examined her. She looked into the mare's eyes and ran her hand up and down Reine's back. Christine saddled Reine and, after opening the gate encircling the mansion, she set her at a fast gallop.

Leaving the territory, Christine headed for a familiar place once known as the "_Opera Populiare_"…

The big, white snowflakes danced around Christine s though celebrating the arrival of winter. The wind eventually died down; and Christine believed it understood her purpose and attempted to facilitate her journey.

It was well into the night, but Christine hesitated to remove her hood. She doubted that there were travelers on this deserted, impoverished and hardly inhabited neighborhood, but decided not to take a risk. The Changy's were esteemed and kown by all. Seeing the Countess de Changy in this area would lead to rumors that Christine did not have the strength to deal with.

Christine gradually approached the building she once called "home". A soft light appeared from one the houses nearby and Christine shuddered. She quickly left the light for the darkness encircling the opera building. It was no longer the light that she sought out, but the dark- the dark that brought the promise of Erik's presence…

Christine observed the building with a sad expression. The building, once so full of life, was now the epitome of loneliness. The opera house, once a home to many people was now abandoned, deserted. Christine sighed and continued onwards.

Approaching the once-used stables, she climbed off of Reine. Running her hands along the mare's mane, Christine whispered, "I'll be back soon. Wait here." Reine stomped and nodded, as if in understanding.

Christine did not err in her direction. She was not surprised at the fact that the way was as clear in her memory was the pure, white snow. She walked through the stables and into the building, trying to ignore the sense of nostalgia at the lack of the smell of horses that once occupied the area.

Searching for a candle in places once familiar, she found some, along with matches. Lighting a candle, she placed it upon a holder and continued onward.

As Christine passed by the back stage, her mind was flooded with memories of the past. The memories of growing up with Meg Giry; and the stern face but loving heart of Madame Giry were such that she missed dearly. She wished she could see Piangi, Carlotta, and all her friends and hear stories of their aspirations, ambitions, and lovers.

Approaching the main stage, Christine glanced and the main auditorium, where all the members of the upper class society made their appearances to listen to the opera.

Christine was immediately reminded of the night of her triumph- the night the O_pera Populaire_, its managers and its employees discovered the talent and voice of Christine Daae. She remembered how her soul felt like it was in heaven, and she believed she was singing with the angles when she sang:

"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye…"

Although she basked in the happiness of these memories- it was not here that she wished to stay. She followed the path to her room, where a dark, masked man captivated her soul and led her to his kingdom of darkness…

Until she reached his lair, Christine thought of Erik, _le phantom de l'opera _(the phantom of the opera), the man whose passion and love for her stirred her senses. It was a certain shadow that left an imprint upon her heart, mind, and very soul. It was the voice, the divine and purely ethereal music of man that continued to sing to her in her sleep and come to her in dreams.

Christine was snatched out of her thoughts when the small boat she occupied bumped onto the place she sought: the Phantom's lair.

The place was entirely dark and deserted, except for the candle Christine held. She climbed the stairs that were once stepped upon when Erik sang to her about his music of the night.

Although left abandoned, everything that once belonged to Erik remained untouched. Christine found pieces of music, both complete and incomplete strewn across the top of the organ Erik used to play.

Christine let her hand wander across the works, letting herself feel the tangible items that connected her to the man that once inhabited this place and composed these pieces.

Tears obscured her vision and slipped past her eyes.

Shattered but once unblemished mirrors remained standing; as well as the rich, soft, black, velvet curtains. Christine lifted a patch of the curtain and brought it to her cheek, rubbing it gently. She enjoyed its texture and its feeling against her skin.

Walking over to an antique, oak table that lay to the left of the organ, Christine found various sketches left around the table.

Most of them were of her.

Christine felt the tears come faster and feelings of sadness, sorrow and desolation wash over her.

But a growing emotion of love; a tender, powerful love for Erik's entire being seized her- with a strong, fierce grip on her heart. But she didn't let a sound escape her.

The candles that were once laid around the entire lair, whose flames once burned brightly were now just a mound of wax. Christine thought of those seemingly everlasting flames- that reflected Erik's love and passion for her.

Christine walked into Erik's room, where he once lay her down to sleep; his strong arms carrying her.

She couldn't help but feel a desire, longing and yearning for the pressure of Erik's arms upon her, as she felt them when he sand to her his song of love, absolute devotion, passion and desire.

Christine took a long time absorbing everything into her memory.

Suddenly, something white caught her eye. She turned and saw that on a small, exquisite table lay Erik's mask.

Christine immediately walked over to the table and kneeled down beside it. She slowly took the mask in both her hands and held it to her chest, her eyes spilling tears as waterfalls do in their fury.

Why has fate lead her through a path of complete misery until that very second?

Because she had left her angel of music- she abandoned and even killed the second, missing piece of her soul.

She had been through what she felt to be a thousand years of internal devastation and torture.

Erik was not a voice, not a spirit, but a man. He sparked a fire in her heart- her heart that had been lying in frost all these years.

And now he lay dead, cold and still under layers of earth. Her Erik, that once shown with a fire of love and of finally attaining rest from the painstaking journey of escaping the isolation that mankind has left him in- by being with her- he is now dead.

Christine finally grasped the horror of the situation and her mistake- but mentally, she refused to acknowledge Erik's death. She began tot sing:

"Angel of music, I denied you- turning from true beauty. Angel of music, my protector, come to me, strange angel!"

It was only the echo of her voice that replied.

"Erik…I love you," she whispered.

Sorrow and grief overwhelmed her, tearing at her soul. Still clutching the mask in her hand, Christine collapsed onto he ground, crying tears that she knew would never compensate for the tears her angel had shed.

If she had only stopped, her eras would have perceived a voice, the voice of and angel calling:

"Christine…Christine…"……

I hope you enjoyed the story!

mymagic


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